


losing control

by pyrrhic_victory



Series: dangerous sentiments [6]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cheating, Dubcon Kissing, Episode: s03e10 Fascination, Established Relationship, Garak and his feelings, M/M, References to Addiction, Secret Relationship, Self-Harm, Sort Of, Trust Issues, again due to telepathic interference, but not really, due to telepathic interference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pyrrhic_victory/pseuds/pyrrhic_victory
Summary: Kira and Bashir are infected with Xanthi fever during the Bajoran Gratitude Festival. Only this time, it's not just Odo who walks in on them.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Series: dangerous sentiments [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1576258
Comments: 35
Kudos: 204





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> tagged warning for self-harm is for this chapter, non-graphic.  
> EDIT - just added a bit to this chapter a couple of minutes after posting it

“Not another game with Chief O’Brien!”

Julian was trying to get into his racquetball outfit, which was being made more difficult by the derisive comments coming from the pile of blankets on the bed. 

“He misses his wife!“ 

Garak emerged from the blankets, looking displeased. 

“And he has my _deepest_ sympathies. But if he insists on taking you away from me this often, I may be forced to act.” 

“Firstly, I am allowed to have other friends besides you. Secondly, he doesn’t know he’s depriving me of anything, because you won’t let me tell him.”

“Because I value my life.” Garak rolled his shoulder back and forth with an affected wince as he sat up. “You know, doctor, I think I’ve pulled something. Perhaps you ought to examine me.” 

“You’re not fooling me this time, Garak.” 

“I can feel vascular necrosis developing. I have only hours to live.” 

“That’s not how that works. And _you’ve_ been snooping around my research again.” 

“Snooping? I wouldn’t dream of it!” 

Garak continued to massage his shoulder very deliberately. Julian knew him well enough to know that if something was actually wrong with him, he wouldn’t breathe a word of it until it reached the point of unbearable agony.

“Look, Keiko’s going to be back soon for the Gratitude Festival. Work will be slow and I’ll have two whole evenings free. All I have to do is spend an hour at Sisko’s party tomorrow and then I’m all yours. Alright?” 

Garak stopped poking his shoulder and tilted his head instead. 

“Really? I suddenly have a new appreciation for Bajoran tradition.“ 

“Speaking of- try and stay out of trouble, please?” Julian begged. 

Garak affected a look of disbelief. “Trouble? Me?” 

“I might tolerate your sense of humour, but a lot of Bajorans won’t. I don’t actually want to see you in the infirmary.” 

“I’ll be on my best behaviour, my dear.” 

Julian didn’t believe him. 

“You’d better be. Ugh, I’m going to be late. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He pressed his palm to Garak’s in more of a high-five than a dignified Cardassian goodbye, sprinted out and left Garak by himself in his quarters. He didn’t know what Garak got up to in there, though sometimes he got back home find his things had been mysteriously tidied up.

“Old habits,” was all Garak ever said on that matter. 

***

Bajoran festivals on the station made people’s reactions to Garak more erratic. Some felt more magnanimous than usual. Others were more enraged at his unwelcome presence during one of their sacred traditions. He resigned himself to spending the day in the back of his shop, working on designs. 

Entertainment found him nonetheless when Constable Odo entered the shop with an exuberantly dressed older woman clamped to his arm. 

“Ah, good morning Constable,” he greeted. “And good morning, Ambassador Troi. Such a pleasure to see you on the station again.” She’d come in to peruse his wares on her last visit, and though she’d been fascinating and entertaining to talk to, he was glad the Order had trained him to block out most telepathy. 

“Oh, I remember you. Mr Garak, isn’t it? Isn’t he a charming man, Odo?” The ambassador exclaimed. Garak bowed his head, smiling. 

“That’s one way of putting it,” Odo gruffly said. Garak glanced between them with increasing delight. He’d never seen the Constable so uncomfortable. 

“Let’s see. I find Cardassian fashion to be so shapeless, so utilitarian. It does very little for one’s figure,” she remarked, looking around the shop. “Bajoran attire isn’t much better. Those people constantly dress like they’re on the way to a temple. It’s all very well to be religious, but there’s no use in it if one doesn’t learn to enjoy life outside the spiritual.” 

“I quite agree,” Garak said. “Though it is an opinion I have to keep to myself in polite company, or I’m afraid I’d never make any latinum at all.“ 

“Ah, politeness. Things would be so much better if people were straightforward with each other,” the Ambassador despaired. 

“There’s no point trying to sell Garak on straightforwardness, Ambassador. He’s a pathological liar with a history in espionage.” Odo almost managed to extract himself from her while she flicked through a rack of his more extravagant dresses. 

“Oh, I could tell you that from his mind,” Troi waved a hand. Garak tried not to panic at that. Had his training failed him? She was known to be a very powerful telepath. 

“You can read Garak?” Odo said, now looking very interested. 

“No, no, no. It’s like looking at a stone wall with vague empathic expressions, nothing more. Cardassians are so protective of their secrets.” 

“We are a very private people by nature, though I’ve yet to find any species with a greater appreciation for good conversation,” Garak said, trying to block out all thoughts of Julian from his mind entirely. 

“You talk more than anyone else and somehow still manage to say nothing,” Odo said. 

“Now really, Odo, there’s no need to be so rude to the poor man,” the Ambassador chastised, and Garak shot the long-suffering constable a daring smile. 

“Perhaps I could show you some of the other establishments on the promenade, Madam Ambassador,” Odo ground out. 

It took a great deal of haranguing and convincing to get her out of the door, and it took a long time for Garak to stop laughing to himself after they left. If Odo could shapeshift into something a little less rigid, he might see that she was an intelligent, charming and fascinating woman who would no doubt be good for him. As things were, the situation brought him no small amount of amusement. 

He whiled away the hours adding a complex pattern of pleats to a Vulcan science officer’s skirt, not expecting much in the way of business during the festival but not willing to shut himself away in his quarters in another layer of exile, either. 

Occasionally he heard conversation and laughter on the promenade when people passed, while his shop sat in silence. As he’d said to Ambassador Troi, Cardassians are conversationalists. Or at least, this particular Cardassian was. It was as much a need for him as a skill. And it was a need going unmet this afternoon. 

Julian was working until the evening, when he’d spend an hour at Commander Sisko’s party for appearance’s sake and then leave. (Garak had no desire to be seen at said party, nor could anyone consider him welcome by any stretch of the imagination.) Odo had taken his daily visit early. He had no customers, and no desire to traverse the crowds outside to Quark’s for more unsavoury conversation. 

He’d lasted much longer periods of time alone before. It seemed that a mixture of his homesickness, long-term withdrawal symptoms and constant exposure to Julian had worn away his tolerance of loneliness.

He spotted Julian striding past the shop in his uniform, likely on the way to his quarters to change for Sisko’s party. He allowed a brief warmth to coil inside him at the sight and then batted it away; no use being sentimental yet. 

He realised he hadn’t fantasised about reactivating the implant in weeks. 

A soft haze had surrounded him in the latter months once the endorphin rush had stopped having much of an effect. He missed that comfort, and he was aware of its absence, but not keenly and miserably. Not most of the time, anyway. He had other vices to fill the gap. 

An hour passed, and Julian would shortly be returning from the party. 

Ah, there he was, wearing the jacket Garak had spent weeks making for him. Black and blue like his uniform, but with the virtue of actually flattering him. Oddly, Major Kira was with him, and they were going back into the infirmary. Perhaps there was some emergency. There was always something going on. 

Garak finally set aside the Vulcan skirt and considered starting his closing-up routine. But if Julian wasn’t going to be available after all, he’d feel rather foolish about having to open again to get some more work done.

A few minutes passed as he set himself to a few tedious tasks - cleaning up stray pieces of cloth and thread, organising commissions in order of priority and difficulty, that sort of thing. 

Another few minutes. 

He glanced out of the door.

Garak sighed. He’d been hoping to avoid Major Kira during a Bajoran festival. There was no telling whether she was the type to grow more magnanimous or more aggressive to Cardassians on these occasions. Since the Cardassian in question was him, he assumed the latter. 

But emergency or not, he’d like to know whether he could expect Julian at a reasonable hour. He conjured up a plausible lie about a headache, breathed deeply and stepped out onto the promenade. 

Thankfully, the crowd ignored him as he picked through it, and since it was a short walk to the infirmary he only picked up the sharp edges of one or two stares before he was safely in the doorway, and-

He almost didn’t recognise them at first. 

Julian. 

Major Kira. 

Arms around each other’s waists. 

_Kissing._

Kissing desperately, hungrily. Right there in the entrance to the infirmary, where anyone might walk in on them. Kira’s boyfriend, for example. 

_Vedek Bareil,_ he absently recalled. _He‘ll no doubt be quite upset._

“Doctor.” He made his voice as calm and amicable as he was capable of. Julian didn’t look up. Didn’t even acknowledge it, like he hadn’t heard. Garak was already feeling himself fall into a manic kind of rage that he’d never quite been able to rein in once it began, when he’d lash out during training and frighten the other students. 

They were moaning and sighing against each other. Kira glanced at him, blinked and went straight back to it. Since when did she conduct her private affairs in front of him? He couldn't afford to expose himself to her, if she didn't know already. He backed into the wall and Julian looked up at him at last. 

“Oh! Hi, Garak. Give me a moment- uh-“ and Kira pulled him back in. 

Wait. 

Surely- 

Julian wasn’t stupid, not like this. He wasn’t cruel, not like this. He was the most infuriatingly moral person Garak knew. This was impossible. 

“Doctor!” 

Odo.

The Ambassador beside him. 

It took quite a lot of effort to pull his wildly out-of-control emotions back into their boxes where they belonged so he could turn to Odo and plaster on a look of polite confusion. 

“I’m no expert, Constable, but I believe there may be something amiss here, don’t you?”

Odo was looking at him. “There’s been a lot of suspicious behaviour around the station since the start of this festival,” he said, dubious. “Doctor, come with me.”

“In a minute-” Julian moaned. Suspicious behaviour indeed. The mere mention of an unknown medical crisis on the station always dragged the doctor away from their intimate encounters. Julian had an unwavering dedication to his duty as a doctor and Starfleet officer, and it was pointless to ever argue against it. That he seemed reluctant to follow that duty now was telling.

“You’d better go,” Kira said, but pulled him back for another kiss. 

Odo had an odd look on his smooth face. He was watching Kira. Shock, confusion, yes. But there was hurt in there, too. 

Interesting.

“Now, doctor!” 

Odo had to physically pull Julian out of the infirmary with Troi following, as Kira made promises of seeing him in her quarters later.

He walked blankly back to his quarters with confusing thoughts floating around his head while he tried to shut down the familiar feeling of betrayal. It was inconceivable. He couldn’t be betrayed anymore, because he didn’t trust anymore. 

_But you trust him, don’t you?_

He’d learned this lesson over and over and over and yet apparently he was stupid enough to keep falling into the same trap. 

But it wasn’t the scene itself that bothered him. (He was almost certain that Julian was under the influence of some delusion, some illness that was affecting his behaviour.) It was his own feelings, the horrible storm that swept him along in the moments before he realised that something was wrong. He trusted Julian, and he shouldn’t. But he did. And it was dangerous. He felt the cold seep under his skin on the way back to his quarters. He dug his nails into his palm until it hurt, and it felt infinitely better than the maelstrom of irritating feelings in his head.

Odo might have seen something. If he told Starfleet, they would certainly use Julian against him if they thought they could get something out of him. Would Julian follow their orders to manipulate him if they were given? Would Garak even notice if he did, or was he so far gone that he'd miss the signs?

Of all the stupid, _humiliating_ things to expose himself over-

His knuckles crunched unpleasantly when they slammed into the wall. 

Fresh pain blossomed through his hand and he drank it in, drowning out everything else with the rushing presentness of it. Embracing it was better than giving himself up to anxiety. It was different from the implant; he could hardly say that the pain felt good or comforting or any of that. But it distracted him. It pulled his head back to a place of practicality over racing paranoia. 

It also made things worse, because there was only one person on the station he trusted to fix whatever he'd just broken. 

"You've gotten yourself into quite a state, haven't you?" He muttered to himself, and wondered how in the world he was going to face Bashir. 

***

Nerys, Nerys, _Nerys-_ No, he had a job to do. Jadzia was sick. Jake was sick. 

But his head pounded and he was sweating through his shirt, and Nerys was there, and she was beautiful and intelligent with her blue eyes- and that wasn’t Nerys at all, wait, he’d got her wrong. 

He was sick too. He scanned himself to prove it. 

Nerys-

He had to give people the cure, and then he could meet Nerys in her quarters. She got lonely if she spent too long without him, but she’d never say it-

No, that wasn’t Nerys. Damn it. 

He was sick. His head pounded with heat. 

He dosed himself with the antiviral, and some of the haze began to clear. 

Kira...the love he had for her felt wrong. Borrowed, somehow, from somewhere else. Someone else he loved that wasn’t Kira. He didn’t think so, anyway. Her hands weren’t that cold and she didn’t like when he talked too much. 

“Doctor.” Odo stood in front of him, looking like he was in a hurry. “Garak saw you and Major Kira together in the infirmary.” 

Garak, that’s who it was. 

Garak saw him and Kira?

He felt like throwing up. The burning heat of the fever spilled over into a spiral of guilt. How had he forgotten Garak? He loved him, he felt things with him he hadn’t felt since Palis, how had he forgotten?

The Xanthi fever, that’s how. 

“He was here when Ambassador Troi and I arrived to collect you. It wasn’t difficult to put the truth about the two of you together.” 

“Oh, God.” He leaned back against the biobed, padd dangling loose in his fingers. “I have to go, to explain-“ 

Odo held up his hand. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, doctor.”

“He needs to know!”

“I agree. Which is why I will explain this to Garak, and you will go back to your quarters and wait out the fever.“ Julian tried to get past but Odo held him in place. “You’ll only make things worse for yourself.” 

He wanted to argue, to say that Garak was reasonable and rational and he’d sit down and understand and they’d laugh about it in the morning. But he’d seen Garak in pain before. He knew what he was capable of when he wasn’t thinking straight. And Julian wasn’t feeling particularly reasonable and rational right now, either. 

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right. Thank you, Odo.” 

“It’s not a favour for you, doctor,” Odo scoffed, and swept out before Julian could really understand what he meant. 

Shit, Odo knew. Was he going to tell Sisko?

He felt violated, even though he thought he’d been in full control of himself. It hadn’t been unpleasant, either, kissing Kira was- well. He’d rather not think about now that he knew it hadn’t been under his control, and Garak had seen it. 

Oh, God, he had, hadn’t he? He’d shouted his name and Julian had glanced over and barely registered him. 

He slumped onto the biobed, curled up and hid his face in his arm. He didn’t want to think, to move. It wasn’t his fault, but he still felt weird. He didn’t _know._

Was this how it would feel to lose control of himself for good? He had been afraid of this since he’d discovered he wasn’t as human as he’d thought; afraid of losing himself without even noticing. The helplessness scared him in a way he couldn’t express to anyone. 

“Julian?” 

Jadzia stood in the entrance to the infirmary, grinning. The room swam around her in a disturbing way before he focused his eyes again. His headache wasn’t going away.

“I heard you and Kira...”

“I really don’t want to talk about it.” 

“Too bad,” Jadzia said, and plopped down on the bed beside him. “Kira won’t want to mention it, I promise. By tomorrow everyone will probably have forgotten all about this.”

Julian groaned and lowered his head back onto his knees. He couldn’t exactly tell her why he was so miserable about this. 

His face stuck to the fabric of his trousers with sweat, and he assumed the heat rushing through him now meant the antiviral was working through his system. There was nothing to do now but wait. 

***

Odo lingered like a beige shadow in the corner. Garak watched him cautiously. 

“Dr Bashir seemed...very upset when he realised what happened.” 

Of course he would. He was so unfailingly decent that he’d be devastated. Odo must have kept him from sprinting in too soon, apologising like it was the only language he spoke. Garak was still dreading him coming down from the infirmary to fix his mess here. 

“Did he,” was all that came out. “Well. It was hardly his fault.”

“No,” Odo agreed. “But that’s not the problem, is it?”

“Isn’t it?” He was starting to wish that Odo would ooze out of here. 

“The problem is, you broke your own rules. You let yourself care about one of them, and it backfired on you. And now you’re wondering if it’s worth it.”

Garak sighed and leaned back in his chair, which he felt like he would have to be surgically removed from if he remained in it much longer. 

Odo was watching him, knowing, understanding. He hated it. 

“Was there something you needed, Constable? Only I’m feeling quite worn out all of a sudden.” 

Odo gave him a final searching look. 

“No, I think I’ve seen everything I need.”

“As have I. I’m not the only one who’s broken the rules, am I, Odo?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Odo flatly said. Now he thought about it, the look he’d given Kira was unmistakable. 

“Of course not.” Garak raised his hands in a gesture of innocent surrender, and regretted it immediately when his right hand sparked with pain. 

Odo narrowed his eyes, nodded once, and then he was gone. 

They had shared a similar nod once before, on the day after Cardassia withdrew from Bajor. Odo had herded a mob of Bajorans out of his shop and nodded at him. And Garak, still too shellshocked by his abandonment to dredge up a false smile, had nodded back. Two exiles. The only members of two _us and them_ species, deprived of _us_ and surrounded by _them_. 

He got up and checked for bugs - Odo was clever, and had left no less than three. 

Then he checked on his _das’shra_ sapling. It was a gift from Julian a few weeks ago, a small red flower that only grew on Cardassia Prime. He kept it on a table by the viewport, under a lamp that replicated the dry heat of Cardassian air without being too bright. It seemed to be flourishing. 

“What is it that Dr Bashir always says? _Rules are made to be broken?_ ” He addressed the flower for lack of a better audience now he’d removed the constable’s listening devices. “Ridiculous expression, obviously. And so very human. On Cardassia breaking the rules gets you a summary execution.” 

_This isn’t Cardassia,_ the flower reminded him. 

“No,” he sighed, and looked out at the bright spot of Cardassia Prime in the viewport. “No, it is not.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Odo comms Julian.

_“Odo to Bashir.”_

“Go ahead?” 

A sigh. 

_“Are there any other medical staff on duty at the moment, doctor?”_

He glanced at the other end of the infirmary. All the other staff were enjoying the festival. 

“No, it’s just me. Is someone hurt?” 

_“Garak seems to have broken his hand.”_

Cold sweat spread up his back. 

“I’ll be right there.”

Broken his hand? How? Garak was the most careful person he knew. And it couldn’t have been a coincidence that it happened now. 

He grabbed his medkit, mind whirling, and Odo passed him in the habitat ring. 

“Constable- can I have a word?” 

“You’d like to know if I plan to inform Commander Sisko about your relationship with Garak.” 

The anxiety curling around his chest ramped up again. He’d always known it was a possibility that they’d be found out, but not so soon, not like this. It would have been difficult to imagine this.

“It’s policy to inform the station’s commanding officer of any apparent risk to security.” But then Odo sighed, looking tired by the whole situation. “But you’re not selling information to the Cardassians, and I doubt there’s anything you could tell Garak that he doesn’t have ways of finding out for himself.”

“Thank you, Odo.”

“Hmph. I hope you know what you’re doing.” 

“Look, I know Garak’s not the most trustworthy person on the station, but I can look after myself-“

“Frankly, doctor, I have no interest in involving myself in your humanoid mating rituals. But I’ll be keeping an eye on both of you,” Odo warned. 

“Right. Good.” It wasn’t good, but Julian wasn’t sure what else to say to that. Odo huffed and left. 

He had to take a breath before ringing the bell at Garak’s quarters. When the doors slid open, Garak was by the viewport, looking at the stars, and he turned to Julian with a carefully blank expression. 

“Doctor.”

The door hissed shut and a fresh wave of dry heat overcame him. Silence filled the space. He scrambled to break it. 

“Odo told me you’d injured your hand. What happened?” 

“Ah. An unfortunate accident with the turbolift doors, that’s all. I told Odo not to worry you over it.” 

Julian very gently held his wrist, examining his swollen, grazed knuckles first by eye and then scanning them with the tricorder. Garak was steadfastly avoiding eye contact. 

“Alright, it looks like you’ve cracked your second and third metacarpals. Sit down, I’ll set up the osteo-regenerator.” 

Broken bones, he could deal with. He worked carefully, withdrawing into professionalism to escape from the blinding awkwardness of the situation and try to figure out what actually happened. He wasn’t sure he believed the story about the turbolift doors, but Odo would have mentioned if someone else had been hurt. 

“How’s that?”

Garak flexed his hand experimentally. 

“Only a little sore. Thank you, doctor.” 

”You’ll need to make sure you stretch your hand regularly in the next few days to retain a full range of motion, like this-” 

He took Garak’s hand and manipulated it carefully, demonstrating. 

It occurred to him only after doing so that hands have an erotic significance for Cardassians that he kept forgetting about. He let go suddenly. Garak lowered his hand, offering a tense smile. A new drop of sweat trickled down his neck and he thought about taking off his jacket-

But Garak made this jacket for him, would he be offended? Right after this mess? No, better keep it on. 

“Odo told you what happened, didn’t he?” 

“The Constable graciously explained that you and several others have been affected by Xanthi fever. Therefore any...misunderstanding that may have occurred has now been resolved.” 

He looked distinctly uncomfortable. 

“Good. Because I wouldn’t actually- you know.” Julian waved his hand vaguely. “Obviously, I mean. I’m not that kind of person. Obviously, you know that, I wasn’t trying to say that _I_ think _you_ think I’m like that-” 

“Ah. No. No, of course not. I’m not about to be infected, am I?” Garak asked. 

Garak with Kira? That was a mental image he didn’t need.

“No, there shouldn’t be any new cases now.” 

“Ah.”

Awkward silence, awkward silence, shit, bollocks-

“So, um. Odo knows about us. He said he wasn’t going to tell anyone.” 

“Yes, that was kind of him.” 

“It’s a bit of a relief, if I’m honest. Now there’s one less person I have to lie to.” 

“Perhaps it is for the best.”

Julian fiddled with his tricorder. Conversation with Garak was usually so easy that this awkwardness felt even worse than the awkwardness he usually ended up in with other people. 

“How are _you_ feeling?” Garak hurriedly asked. 

Was that conversation filler or genuine concern? Should he reply with the standard ‘I’m fine’ or be honest? His head felt hot and heavy, sweat soaking into his hair as the fever worked its way out. 

Garak’s cool hand rested cautiously on his wrist. He did look concerned.

“Hot,” Julian admitted. 

“Well, we can’t have that, can we?” Garak said, and as he stood Julian was suddenly hit with the echo of Enabran Tain saying the same thing, in the same voice. He stared at him as he adjusted the temperature at the wall panel. 

“Oh, I didn’t mean- you’re always cold, and these are your quarters, Elim-”

“And you are my guest here. I would be a poor host if I refused to accommodate your needs while you were ill. Water?”

“Yes, please.” 

An ice-cold glass was pressed into his hands and he accepted it gladly. 

“And as dashing as you look in that jacket, I’d suggest removing it until the worst of your fever has passed.”

Relief flooded through him and he shrugged off the jacket and began to feel the air conditioning soothing his skin. Garak busied about hanging it up in the closet. It was odd seeing something of his hanging next to all Garak’s clothes. Presumably he’d done it because he was fastidious about wrinkles and there was nowhere else to put it, but still. 

“Other than ‘hot’, are there any notable symptoms I may be able to help with? I’m no doctor, of course, but from time to time I could be persuaded to play nurse.” 

The expression on his face was less awkward and more playful now. 

“Well, I do have a bit of a headache, and I’m getting tired. But the worst part now is the embarrassment. I haven’t seen Kira since. Do you think we can still be friends? I really felt like she was starting to warm up to me before all this happened.”

“Well. It certainly looked that way earlier,” Garak remarked, as he sat down. 

Julian looked over to check whether that was an irritated comment or a tease. Garak had that maddening smile on, and he allowed himself to relax a bit. 

“I’m glad _you’re_ enjoying yourself.”

“It looked like you were doing plenty of that earlier, too.” 

Julian groaned and tipped sideways to lie in his lap, mostly to avoid looking at his smug face, but also because it was a surprisingly nice place to rest. 

“You have comfortable thighs. Have I ever told you that? I should have.”

“I’ll be generous under the circumstances, and assume you mean that as a compliment. You are quite a lot warmer than usual, aren’t you?”

He touched Julian’s cheek with a cold hand.

“It’s just the fever working its way out now that I’ve taken the antiviral. I’ll be alright in the morning.” Garak combed through his hair, and his fingers were wonderfully cold, soothing the heat burning his skull. “Oh, that’s lovely. Don’t stop.” 

From this angle, he could see the table by the viewport where Garak kept his _das’shra_ flower under a heat lamp. Seeing it always made him smile. He closed his eyes and heard a little huff of amusement as Garak settled into the sofa and kept stroking his hair.

“In the future, if it ever seems like I’m doing something strange...”

“You’ll have to be more specific. Almost everything you do baffles me.” 

Julian opened his eyes with the express purpose of rolling them, even if Garak couldn’t see it from this angle. The room was fuzzy, so he closed them again. He lifted his legs onto the couch and curled up. The bed wasn’t far away, but he was comfortable and warm here and his limbs all felt heavier than they should. 

“If it seems like I’m doing something strange _for me_ , could you make sure it’s really me doing it? That I haven’t lost control of myself?”

“How many recurrences of this condition are you expecting? Should I be prepared for a surprise every time I visit the infirmary?” 

Julian sighed and concentrated on the gentle hands in his hair rather than the uncomfortable feeling of being outside of himself, of losing control. 

“It’s just that this sort of thing has happened to me before. Not Xanthi fever, specifically. There was a Kobliad named Vantika who sort of...uploaded his consciousness into my brain. He was hiding in there for days and I didn’t even notice. Nobody noticed. I just don’t want anything like this to happen again.”

Garak hummed.

“In the interest of station security, I will submit to the onerous task of monitoring your every move.”

“Thank you for your sacrifice,” Julian mumbled, nestling closer.

“By the way, I’ve always heard that doctors make the worst patients. I do hope you aren’t going to make my job difficult?” 

“Well, I suppose that’s true, to a certain extent-” he stifled a yawn. “We’re trained to do the looking-after, so it feels silly to have someone else come along and try to do my job when I’d be just as well off on my own.”

“I see. You dislike relinquishing control.” 

“Exactly, I mean, how would you feel about someone coming into your shop and making your clothes for you?” 

“Relieved, so long as they don’t expect to be paid.” 

His eyes drifted shut again. The dim lights in Garak’s quarters always made him sleepy. He got the strange sensation of floating downwards as he lay there, not thinking about much besides trying to nudge down his core temperature.

Garak’s hand went still after a while and he sighed. 

“My dear…”

“Hmmm. I know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you? Have you developed your own telepathy as a result of this fever?”

“No, I just know you, and you exist to spoil all my fun. I don’t want to get up. I’m quite comfortable here, thank you very much.” 

“That’s all very well for you, but I don’t think my back will thank me if I spend the entire night sitting here.”

“Just a few more minutes?” 

He did his best to sound as pleading as possible. 

A heavy sigh. 

“You can be quite childish, you know,” came Garak’s defeated voice. “But since you’re ill, I’ll allow it.” 

“Oh, you will, will you?” Julian mumbled. His focus drifted and only heard the tail end of whatever Garak said in response. 

“...few minutes.”

He just wanted to rest his eyes for a moment. Blindly, he reached for Garak’s hand and tugged it back to his hair. 

Sleep pulled him under. 

***

Julian was asleep. 

In Garak’s lap. 

It had been far longer than ‘a few minutes’ already, and he was cold, and he wanted to get up and go to bed, obviously. But something kept him paralysed. 

It was odd to have someone trust him like this. 

He was very aware of the stupidity of his earlier reaction. He didn’t even know quite why he’d done it- broken his hand, that is. All his anger had turned from Julian to himself as soon as he’d started feeling it - anger at himself for being able to _feel_ so much when it was so dangerous - and instead of burying the rage or slowly drinking it away, he’d tried to get rid of it all at once.

The pain helped. 

A calm enveloped him, the same kind of calm he used to get when he injured himself to trigger the implant. He hadn’t broken any bones back then, of course, just minor cuts he could easily hide, but the same strange relaxing quality was there. His racing thoughts had to be stripped back to the practical. Everything was about the specific way he had to hold his hand to avoid sparking a new wave of pain.

Newly mended, his hand only felt stiff and awkward, and he stretched it out before returning it to Julian’s hair. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about it. For a blissful moment after the pain hit, his mind was clear and all he had to do was feel. It was the same with the implant. It was the same with sex. It was the same with alcohol. (The main thing that kept him from going over _that_ particular edge was his pride. He would not be seen intoxicated in Quark’s- not after the scene he’d made when he was dying. Between that and the bad taste of the kanar he could get out of a replicator in his own quarters, he’d mostly forced it under control. Mostly.) 

Unlike his other vices, the pain gave him a sense of complete control while still satisfying his need for release. And he couldn’t stop thinking about it. He looked numbly at his hand as it settled in Julian’s hair, suddenly unable to move.

The doctor shifted, mumbled something. He was coming awake. 

“What was that?” Garak asked. Julian sat up and stretched his shoulders. His cheek was red where it had been pressed against his thigh. 

“How long was I asleep?”

“Not long. Though I suggest we retire properly in the near future.” The colder temperature was starting to settle in now, and he’d quite like to warm himself with a burning hot human and try not to think for a moment. 

“Good thinking. Are we alright?”

Julian was looking hopefully at him with his soft eyes and he had to take a moment to process the question. 

“In what sense?” 

“You and me. It must have been a bit awkward to walk in on, well. That.”

Ah. that. 

Julian carried on, looking sheepish. 

“So I thought I’d better ask, just in case. Are we alright?” 

There was no guile in that face, no manipulation. He was just himself. No wonder Garak couldn't help but trust him. 

“Of course.” Garak touched the red mark on Julian’s cheek. “A simple misunderstanding is not going to be the death of us.”

“Good.” Julian took his hand, the one he'd broken, not knowing how or why (and Garak would ensure it remained that way) and carefully kissed his knuckles. “I’d hate for this to be the bad ending to _A Midsummer Night’s Dream._ Shakespeare,” Julian added, at his look of confusion. “You’ll love it. Or you’ll hate it, which you’ll love doing just as much. I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow.”

“You did promise me _two_ evenings free.” 

Julian got up and stretched, all long, sprawling lines, and his shirt rode up when he raised his arms above his head. He saw Garak looking and winked lazily. 

“And I promise to try and salvage this one," he said, and offered his hand, pulled Garak up off the couch and straight into his arms. Garak soaked up warmth and slow, sleepy kisses given anywhere Julian could find space to put them. 

“Doctor-”

He was interrupted by another kiss. 

“If anyone else was the patient, you’d tell them to rest-”

He didn't put up much of a fight when Julian cut him off again. He needed this, he swallowed it greedily to replace the drinks he couldn't let himself have- and he really shouldn't let himself have this, either, but it was far, far too late for that. 

“Since I’m the doctor _and_ the patient here, I can prescribe myself _bed rest_ ,” Julian smugly said, kissing his jaw, nudging his nose against the ridges by his ear. 

Garak rolled his eyes.

“If you've been relying on lines like those for your previous conquests, you’re lucky you’ve already seduced me.” 

“Yes, I am.” Julian beamed at him in his sweet, self-satisfied way. “Come on, then.”

He had no choice but to follow him. This had long since gotten out of his control. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what u think! i know i tend to give Garak a lot of angsty introspection, mostly because a) hes a massive pessimist and b) he just Does Not talk about his feelings ever so that's the only way.

**Author's Note:**

> let me know what you think so far, and if I need to revise the tags - this whole episode is a tagging nightmare! i could have left it out but i didn't because i love pain, and Elim 'Trust Issues' Garak has to deal with the consequences.


End file.
